


Intoxication

by angelkat



Series: The Wee Compendium of Sweet Ginger [7]
Category: The Adventures of Puss in Boots (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:49:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21806173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelkat/pseuds/angelkat
Summary: In which Dulcinea...is not exactly sober.
Relationships: Puss/Dulcinea
Series: The Wee Compendium of Sweet Ginger [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571299
Kudos: 10





	Intoxication

She was gulping down the burning contents of her cup and gasped once finished, turning the thing over so its empty hollow knocked with a dull and satisfying _thunk_ against the wooden counter.

Her eyes red-rimmed and nigh brimming with tears from the abuse it suffered through sleepless nights of crying, Dulcinea, San Lorenzo’s sweet and smiling beacon of hope, faith, and love, coarsely growled three words out of her parched and wounded throat.

“One more, Pajuna.”

The barkeeper, upon hearing the softly-spoken yet uncharacteristically curt demand, noticeably paused from wiping one of her spoons before hesitantly moving to reach out to one of her cupboards to place the wooden utensil there.

She turned slightly to the side, enough not to be seen peeking but enough to see what she needed to see. Having seen many people from her past life sink to this state, the sight did not even make her flinch—but she worried. Her golden earring glinted slightly as the cantina’s lights hit it at just the right angle when she moved to bow her head, letting her nut brown bangs cover the severe frown now settling on her mouth.

Because _no_ , she decided.

_This ain’t right._

Dulcinea’s eyes, usually so vivid and alight with life, were now glazed over, looking at nothing, lacking their polished sapphire lustre, dead. Her usually pristine white fur looked dishevelled and ungroomed. She looked restless—the way how she was gripping at the wooden counter as if clinging onto the last threads of reason looked more desperate than it necessarily should. She was breathing too shallowly, and with the way how her usually neat and smoothly-ironed silken dress hung limply from her shoulders, even Pajuna could see from this distance that she was, very worryingly, starting to lose weight.

_This… ain’t right._

“Pajuna,” she snapped, catching her staring, and now the bovine officially flinched at the harshness in her tone. This…was an entirely new level of snappy. This was only something she reserved for _Jack Sprat_. “Did you hear me? I said one. _more_.”

And it wasn’t only Pajuna. Señora Zapata was here too.

Artephius and the Duchess, they weren’t blind.

Señor and Señora Igulademontijo—even Eames and a lot of other nameless faces—could see it so painfully clearly.

Even the town mayor, who regularly stopped by the cantina for a cup of milk before he went to bed, (he says it helps chase away the monsters lurking from the dark corners of his office), would timidly peek over his cup and slightly tremble in terror of this new person living amongst them.

Because this definitely wasn’t Dulcinea.

Not without Puss.

Pajuna sighed. “Look, lassie, I could only go so far as to support you with—with however you want to cope with this…situation, but this—” She pounded a hoof right in front of the girl, startling her out of her drunken stupor, “this is where I draw the line.”

When the cat said nothing, Pajuna softly added, “Talk to me.”

Dulcinea, recovering her resolve, glared up at her friend, her features sharpening once more.

“I’m _okay_ , Pajuna.”

“You’ve drunk twenty-three cups since you got here.”

“I _know_ , but—”

No one could have foreseen her jump onto the counter and grab Pajuna by the pelt on her chest before she went screaming.

“I _intend_ to _pay_ for the _twenty-fourth!_ ”

“How can you keep thinking it’s the money I’m concerned about?” she replied levelly.

Perhaps it was the disturbing calm Pajuna elicited that made the flame in Dulcinea spark and grow and lash out in a wildfire. “Why do you think _I_ need your concern?!”

She was feral. And out of her mind. The San Lorenzan spectators uncertainly looked among themselves, torn between the fact that this was none of their business and the other fact that Dulcinea…

“Dulcinea, you need to snap out of it.”

“Snap out of what? What is _wrong_ with you, Pajuna?! Just give me my drink!”

Señora Zapata officially laid her book down her table. “Dulcinea…”

“No!” she struggled against the arms of the Duchess who had abandoned her goat cheese to help Pajuna deal with the emotionally unbalanced feline clasping at the Scottish bovine’s fur.

“Let me _go!_ ”

“Dulcinea,” said the Duchess, “you have to calm down—”

“What she said, lassie, so how about the bed, huh? I could— _ahck!_ ”

Pajuna staggered from the wild punch she received on her jaw, and looked back up to see Dulcinea, panting and agitated and not-quite-lucid, standing with her feet apart and her fists drawn up in a defensive stance.

“S-Stay back, you can’t make me, you can’t tell me he’s— _he’s_ —”

She was babbling gibberish that was out of context.

“She can’t hear you,” Zapata finally offered, her tone firm and resolute. Pushing her chair back and standing up, she urgently suggested, “We have to do something else.”

“Oh!” the Duchess’ eyes widened, and she reached back for a soul jar and put it on the designated place on the magical gear she pulled out of nowhere. “Yes, I think I have some sleeping spells that might work! Now hold her steady for me— _oof!_ ”

The Duchess went flying through the air and hit the wall on the far side of the cantina, having been struck on the chest by the wooden chair Dulcinea had flung in her direction.

The San Lorenzan crowd tremblingly parted to form a path for Dulcinea, who was now angrily stomping towards the Duchess as rebellious tears leaked out of her bloodshot eyes.

“Don’t you even _think about trying to control me like I don’t deserve to have a say in this!_ ”

“E-Everyone, c-c-calm down,” Mayor Temeroso finally stood up, albeit with shaking knees. “I am sure fighting will not resolve any—”

“ _Why,_ you filthy _cat_ ,” the Duchess shot back, completely ignoring the mayor as she got up on her feet, “You’re never getting better if you insist to be like this!”

_“Who said I wanted to get better?!”_

“Ha! So, _what_ , are you planning on sulking over that stupid playboy forever? Then be my guest!”

“Duchy, don’t say that!” pled Artephius. “Dulcie, don’t fight please?”

“He _left_ us!” she roared, whirling around to face him, then everyone else. “Why can’t anyone of you understand?! Why is it like I’m the only one who seems to care?! Why am—why am I—the only one— _the_ —”

Her lip trembled and her weakening knees were begging for her to give in, but by some miraculous strength left in her, she managed to remain standing in the midst of this mess.

_…but why? Why am I the only one suffering?_

“Dulcinea…” Pajuna had walked out of her counter and was standing from behind her. “I’m sorry for this.”

“What are you…” The question trailed off as she realized that she was being lifted into the air by two women far larger than she is. “No! Let me go! Pajuna!”

“Hold her that way,” Señora Zapata instructed.

Pajuna nodded then turned to the Eldritch witch in front of them, who only scoffed at the sight of the struggling cat.

Frowning, the barkeep urged, “ _Oi_.”

The witch only sighed and returned the nod, but as she reared back and set her gear to the lowest possible setting of inflicting pain and got ready to fire—

_“NO!”_

Dulcinea had shut her eyes close to brace herself for the attack, but in that small space of time, most of the cantina’s candlelights have been snuffed out by a hidden force as quick as a shadow, and before they knew it…

The Duchess, Señora Zapata, and Pajuna have all staggered back from the attacks they’ve received on their neck, wrist, and jaw respectively, releasing Dulcinea from their clutches. She landed on the floor on her knees, her silken dress pooling around her—then, gasping for air, she put both paws on the floor, as if that were the only way to keep supporting herself up.

Amidst the cacophony of roaring voices and manic screams and frantic people trying to get other people to calm down—

“Pray tell, Felina,” drawled that all-too familiar voice, with exactly the same accent and exactly the same roughness as they last heard it from what seemed so long ago, the heel of his boot scuffing against the wooden floor. “Have you all _lost_ _it?_ What were you going to do to her? What is going on here?”

“Like the jerk who broke her heart in the first place has any right to know,” the Duchess mumbled under her breath as she grumpily dusted off some imaginary dirt from the silver surface of her gear.

His green eyes widened like saucers, seeming genuinely disturbed and confused about the accusation that she’d just sprouted out of her mouth. “What…are you…talking about? I—”

“And now _you_ decide to show up?” Pajuna calmly deadpanned, her arms crossed over her chest. “How _dare_ you?”

“Get out of this town, right now, Puss in the Boots,” Señora Zapata spat, “before I wrangle every limb out of that small body of yours and feed you to the maggots!”

“W-Wait!” Puss stepped back, holding his paws up as if that was the only way to convince them that he would not use any weapons on them and that he meant them no harm. “Please, give me a chance to clear this misunderstanding—“

“P-Puss?” Dulcinea’s soft voice was a break of novelty amid the contesting mix of angry voices. “Is that…you?”

“Dulcinea,” he let out, and Pajuna and Señora Zapata hesitantly parted to give him way. He knelt before her and took her paw in his. “Calm down. I am here.”

“No,” she recoiled, taking back her paw and putting it on her chest as she caved into herself. “Just another…figment. Another dream. Just like the book says. Chase away the sorrow, for sorrow always will…make you see things that aren’t…real…”

Shock descended upon Puss’ eyes as the meaning of her words sunk into his core.

_See things…that aren’t real?_

_Just ‘another’ figment?_

_What happened to her while I was gone?_

Before he could think more of it, however—

Dulcinea cried out in pain as she slumped forward, but Puss caught her.

_“Dulcinea!”_

All heads then swivelled to glare at the Duchess, the tip of her magic gear still smoking from her most recent shot.

“What?” she shrugged it off, managing to sound innocent. “That was just a sleeping spell. And you all heard what she was saying—she’s _gone!_ The cat needs the sleep. She’s going to thank me later.”

The effects were not immediate, though. Puss still felt her paws clutch at the fur on his chest as she struggled to get up just so her eyes could lock with his.

“You…you were gone for two months.”

He had prepared for this. “I am sorry.”

Then his head jerked sidewards at the force of her slap.

He closed his eyes. He had prepared for this, too. “And I fully deserve that.”

“You are _real_ ,” he could hear her say in wonder as if she didn’t even hear him, and he felt her paw creeping up the fur on his face so she could cup his cheek.

Well, aforementioned cheek still stung like a thousand bees had pricked on it, but he guessed it could be worse. Chuckling uncomfortably, he intoned, “Ah…well…”

What happened next, however, was something he had not prepared for. Because, before he knew it, Dulcinea had crawled up on him and took the opportunity of his open mouth to kiss him.

Startled, Puss scrambled to get his elbows support him, but then even they gave in and he had no choice but to lie down on the floor, her weight pushing him down.

The San Lorenzans surrounding them either hid their lips behind their mouths or turned their heads away from the scene they knew they shouldn’t be witnessing.

But then Puss broke out of his daze and pulled her away, needing to breathe. “ _Dulcinea_.” He said her name as if that itself were the air he needed to fill his gasping lungs. He knew he was blushing red from underneath his fur, but that wasn’t what mattered at the moment. “This is—I—you have to—“

When he looked down at the white feline snuggled up against his chest, he realized that the effects of the sleeping spell had finally taken over.

…

Not able to deal with the unbearable silence afterward, Puss had elected to bring her to her room in the orphanage.

He dreaded the morning. Everyone would be gossiping about the little scene they created at the Cow and Moone Cantina by then, and the mere fact that he did not look forward to being the centre of everyone’s attention spoke volumes of how so, so tired he was.

He had been through hell and back the eternity he was gone.

By the time he had returned to the cantina, everyone demanded answers. The women—Pajuna, the Duchess, Señora Zapata—were especially livid, and kept calling him a jerk and heartbreaker and an insensitive piece of garbage who deserved nothing less than a crucifixion (the last being from Zapata, obviously.) And he supposed the verbal lashing was only fair, considering the last hurtful words _he_ had uttered the last time he had been here two months ago.

 _“I am in love with_ her _, Dulcinea! How presumptuous of you to think that I reciprocate any feelings you have towards me. Ha! Your naivety had always been such a laughable thing.” Making his way out the door, “I have decided to leave you._ All _of you.”_

He was lucky the Sphinx had even let him in the town uneaten. 

She…was an old flame. A pretty little grey wildcat who practiced sorcery. Her name was Catherine, and he thought that he had made it clear to her a long, long time ago, that she was simply _not_ his type.

That made her rebellious and angry, though, and he learned that she had been chasing for him since then, wanting to force him to love her.

Finally, she found him in San Lorenzo, but his downfall was that he _forgot_ that they even had a history, which made him put his guard down.

As a result of his carelessness, the despicable minx succeeded in putting him under a spell that made him _believe_ he was in love with her, fooling everyone else—himself included—in San Lorenzo.

He had been under the effects of that vile witchcraft when those words made their way out of his tongue— _“I have decided to leave all of you”_ —but no one had even seemed to realize the entire truth of the matter until it was too late.

Until it was two months later that he realized…

He was not where he belonged.

So then he made his way to return to San Lorenzo, but the state he found it in—the state he found Dulcinea in—was not something he could have ever anticipated.

After everyone was satisfied of the tale of his travels with that obsessive lovesick witch, Puss voiced his concerns to Pajuna, while seated back on his usual stool with his usual leche on her wooden counter.

“Pajuna, my friend…” He flinched at his careless usage of the word ‘friend’—he had been so used to addressing the cow that way, it oftentimes only slipped through his mouth without his notice—but he relaxed when Pajuna did not snap at him for daring to presume that they still had their friendship. Even after all he had done, no matter how unknowingly…

“I have never seen Dulcinea so disoriented. So…out of it.” He looked at his own reflection staring back at him from inside his cup of milk. Then he gripped it tight, his claws peeking out of his fingers as he ferally flared up at the cow. He could not help it. He was tired and worried and concerned and misunderstood and he was the reason that this mess even happened in the first place—but he also had the right to be angry when it came to that one person he cherished the most.

“I never thought you would have been the type to encourage her to consume alcohol,” he drawled. “The substance is harmful to humans—to cats more so. You could have killed her!”

This late in the night, the cantina had already been deserted by most of the people present earlier, save for a few patrons who could only stare up from their drinks to witness their town hero create another scene.

But Puss could not care less.

Pajuna was as calm as Puss was seething. She had dealt with these sorts of situations so many times in her past life, it no longer surprised her.

“Of course I knew that,” she scoffed, “She’s _Dulcinea_ , laddie, she wouldn’t be able to handle it. And besides, I wouldn’t be so careless.”

“Then what in the nine toes of Felina have you been giving her?”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Ginger ale.”

He erupted in triumph and pointed an accusatory finger at her. “Ha! I knew it! Ale! You have been—giving her…ginger… _ale?_ ” He withered. At the way Pajuna only crossed her arms at him with an impressive deadpan plastered on her face, he knew he had hit a dead-end.

Ginger ale was not even alcoholic.

“Exactly,” Pajuna asserted. “It’s not the ale that made her ‘out of it’, Puss. It’s you.”

* * *

**6**  
_intoxication._


End file.
